


The Christmas Tree

by SgtSalt



Category: True Detective
Genre: Christmas Tree, Christmas fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 05:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13334097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtSalt/pseuds/SgtSalt
Summary: Marty lets the branch slide back through his fingers. The pine needles are so thin and numerous it's soft, almost like petting a dog. "What's that, honey?""I said, do you think Rust has his tree picked out yet too?""Usually I'd ask how the hell should I know what he's getting up to." Marty's looking back up at Maggie, mouth slowly pursing. "'Cept this one I got already. I'm thinking he ain't into this kinda thing. Decorations and...whatnot."*Just something that struck me and I couldn't successfully ignore. Some musings on how a Christmas might've gone during the points we didn't get to see, or maybe an AU itself.





	The Christmas Tree

Marty lets the branch slide back through his fingers. The pine needles are so thin and numerous it's soft, almost like petting a dog. "What's that, honey?"

"I said, do you think Rust has his tree picked out yet too?"

"Usually I'd ask how the hell should I know what he's getting up to." Marty's looking back up at Maggie, mouth slowly pursing. "'Cept this one I got already. I'm thinking he ain't into this kinda thing. Decorations and...whatnot." Marty gestures at the small forest created by the Boy Scout Christmas tree fundraiser they've come to this year. A few feet away, Audrey and Macey are holding a loudly whispered argument about who just accidentally whipped who in the face with a flexible branch. 

"It can help to have changes of scenery every once in a while." Maggie says.

Marty shrugs, hands still both leaning against the nearest tree. "I'm the one buying a tree. Don't gotta convince _me_ about this. You got someone to sell a tree to, tell it to him."

Maggie goes thoughtfully quiet. At least until the girls get a bit louder. "Audrey, let go of your sister's hair! Both of you, come over here." They end up meeting halfway, and Maggie's sharpness has already softened. "Have you girls found a tree you like?"

*

They're already at the counter when Marty looks over at Maggie and they smile at each other, just before her expression falters back into that quiet worry.

"What is it, Maggie?"

Maggie's head ticks down for a second, like she's giving one last hard look at her thoughts before deciding which ones are worth committing to. "I think we should buy Rust a tree."

"How's that?" Marty's too stunned for a proper argument for a moment. 

"I think it would do him some good."

"Honey, listen. A man gets his own tree. And if he doesn't want one, he won't get one. Simple as that." 

Maggie's mouth is settling into a firm line. If this is Christmas generosity, it sure looks a hell of a lot more like preparing for battle. "I think sometimes people are too afraid to go and get what they want."

"What's that even mean?" The woman ahead of them in line turns around and gives Marty a hard look, tugs her son a little closer in towards her side. Marty lowers his voice. "We're still just talking about a tree, ain't we?"

"He can throw it away if he really doesn't want it."

"You can't just-- show up to someone's house with a tree they didn't ask for." 

"That's what a present _is_ , Marty." 

She's got about half a point, there. Marty chews on the inside of his cheek, watching her sideways while she stares ahead. "So this'll be it, then. His, uh. Christmas present for this year." He tugs at his tie, smoothing out wrinkles that might or might not exist. 

"Better than another mug and bag of coffee." There's a hint of smile, first just in her voice. But then Maggie makes eye contact with him and Marty feels his own mouth turning up and dammit, this is what's happening. 

"Probably not wrong. Bet he didn't even take it outta the damn bag before donating that shit last year."

Maggie's laugh is a soft thing, especially in line behind another couple, but her eyes light up the place anyway. "At least this time we're getting him something that's socially acceptable to throw away." 

"Got that right." Marty's sobered up by the time they've paid for their tree, though. Logistics come to hit him as he's tying it to the top of their car. 

"He's the one with the damn truck, though." He mutters to himself. 

Maggie catches his eye, eyebrows raised, inviting more of an argument. Marty just sighs, and all four of them return to the line of trees to pick out what they'll be dropping off at Rust's door.

*

Rust's place looks the exact same as last time Marty was here, living in his upstairs. It's an unwelcome reminder of being kicked out of his own home, and it leaves him fidgeting more than he normally would.

Rust answers the door right when Marty's turning back around from his second pacing across the little walkway connecting pavement to door. 

"Hey, Rust." Marty ends up talking first, probably because Rust is too busy frowning at him and trying to peel an answer right outta the air. 

"What're you doing here?" Apparently no psychic answer was forthcoming. Rust doesn't sound annoyed, just baseline blunt. He's dressed in slacks and just an undershirt. It's Sunday, a day off for both of them. They don't really see each other outside of work or rare dinners, now that Marty's back home. 

"Well now, how's that for a damn greeting."

Rust is looking past him, squinting into the sun for answers. "On your way home with the family tree?" Without moving, Rust's face manages to look even less inviting than it did a few seconds ago.

"Actually, Rust." And now Marty turns to look at the tree too, hands coming down to settle on his hips, just to have something to do. "That's for you."

Silence stretches. "For me."

"Uh-huh." Marty's tie adjustment is a little rougher than earlier. 

"Is this a goddamn joke?"

"No." Marty draws back up to his full height, which is unsatisfyingly not tall enough to stare down his nose at the asshole currently taking that tone with him. "Maggie's idea, actually. Think she figured you could use the holiday cheer. Consider this your Christmas present from us."

Rust produces a cigarette from somewhere, and a lighter from somewhere else. Marty half-wonders if he sweats nicotine. "Don't need a tree in my house."

"First of all, that's an apartment, and a shitty one at that. Second, pretty sure it's standard procedure to at least pretend to say 'thank you' after getting a present. Regardless of how fast you're gonna put it through the mulcher soon as the gift-giver leaves." 

Rust doesn't budge or reply. He sucks in air through the cigarette, pulls it aside and then breathes out. It's slow enough that Marty thinks he might be trying to let out more than just the smoke. 

There's just enough hanging in the air, as Rust considers, that Marty makes a genuine effort to stay quiet and wait him out.

"Okay." Turns out waiting was worth it. Rust sticks the cigarette between his lips, now, lets it settle there to free his hands. He's already halfway to Marty's truck. "Let's get it inside."

"Well, wait a minute." Marty scoots off after him, keys jangling in his pocket. "Shouldn't we get your uh, tree stand or something set up for it? We can't just dump it in your living room."

"Do I seem like I own a tree stand, Marty?" Rust is frowning at the ropes holding the tree to Marty's car roof. 

"Guess not." Marty sighs, watching Rust across the top of his own car. "How do you manage to make a win still feel like a loss?" 

"I don't know, Marty." But it's a careless dismissal, dry as kindling that's managed to escape getting lit. "How do you manage to get to be a police sergeant and not know how to tie a damn knot?"

"Swear to god." Marty says, but then they're heaving as one unit to get the released tree off the roof. 

They're halfway back to the door, Rust carrying the tip of the tree and Marty keeping the heavy stump of it from dragging on the pavement. "So mowing your lawn's off the table, but you can show up to my house with a tree I didn't cut down myself?"

Marty breathes in, heavy and stern through his nose. This is a bait he's trying not to rise to, not now that Maggie's got him back home and not now that he's nearly ten damn months sober. "Difference there being that I'm not picking up anyone else's job on you. Don't know if you noticed you're living like a bachelor over here. For fuck's sake, you even buy a bed frame yet?"

Rust's face unfolds, every line from squinting into the sun suddenly smoothed into blankness. Marty double-takes, quiet but still too angry to take any of that back. 

The tension uncoils all at once as they cross the threshold into the apartment. "Well." Rust's bare feet make the linoleum creak as he urges them in further, and between the smoke he breathes out and the tree twisting directions to fit around the counter, for a moment Marty can't see his face at all. "Guess it's my fault for lacking so much, then. Didn't know you were gonna get so sentimental around Christmas."

It's a few moments of the two of them tugging in different directions, until Marty softens his grip and follows Rust's lead into the living room. The tree ends up leaned against a wall for the moment, both men holding onto it and carefully avoiding too much eye contact as they bump shoulders to prop up the tree. 

Rust stares at it. Marty quickly looses interest in the tree and watches Rust instead, wonders if whatever's got his face so still means he ought to excuse himself and hustle on out of there. Give Rust some privacy. 

"Why'd you bring your car, Marty?"

"What, now?"

"I'm the one with the truck."

Marty thinks he deserves a beer for not knocking that smug face right off. 

*

Maggie's car is quieter than Marty's. Newer, too. 

She's a little surprised by how quiet it's been today, though, given who else is in the car with her.

Rust is already opening the front door, quiet engine or not. He's in a tank top and khakis and belt, like he'd had somewhere to be and just got back. Or changed his mind and never actually left. 

"Construction on 110 that bad?"

Maggie smiles, relief loosening up some of the self-aware coils that collected during the drive. But then there's movement in the seats behind her, and Rust stills like a rabbit caught in a hawk's line of sight. 

"Sorry." Maggie starts. Her war face is already being painted back on, smoothing out into the benevolent confidence that's steered clear of so many children's tantrums - and men's - in the past. "Their babysitter canceled at the last minute. And it's three days before Christmas and I need the other two for preparing the house."

Rust doesn't nod so much as his head tilts back once and then stays there, as far away as it's gonna be able to get without him actually making a retreat. "You hosting this year for your parents?"

Maggie nods, eyes closed and eyebrows raised. Her parents haven't needed to be specified often for the mood to be handed across loud and clear. 

Rust grabs the door handle like he'd rather be holding a cigarette. Maycie and Audrey shift around in the back seat again, seat belt unclacking from Audrey's side. Maggie had told them not to get out of the car til she said so - just in case - but she doesn't break her stare at Rust to turn around and shush them about waiting.

"Must be a real bad party, if this is what you picked as a break before it." The door widens, just barely, but it's permission. 

Maggie lets out a breath she told herself she wouldn't hold and then turns around towards the backseat. "Alright, girls."

They tumble out, this new place hypnotic in the way only children can look at unknowns. Maggie unhooks her own seatbelt and gets a gift bag out of the seat next to her in the time in takes both of them to cross to the very edge of the driveway. They stop with tiny feet right before the grass that marks the real start of someone else's lawn. 

"Shoes off in your place?" 'House' sounds patronizing. But 'apartment' is too clinically accurate, and Maggie knows the importance of softer euphemisms when talking around the too-correct.

Rust winces with it, or maybe with the reminder that everyone's coming inside, or maybe just with the jerky movements of coming back out of a dream. "Nah. Not unless they all prefer bein' barefoot." Rust is widening the door again before retreating inside, scuffing backwards and watching everyone from under heavy lids. "Know I did when I was their age." 

Maggie brings up the rear as they all march inside. The girls immediately crowd the nearest kitchen wall, looking around for a mat and finding none. "Can we take our shoes off here?" Says Macie, while Audrey is kicking hers off already, watching both adults and daring them to tell her otherwise. 

"Looks like as good a spot as any." Maggie hasn't been in Rust's apartment since Marty was moving back in. Technically, she didn't even go in then. Just parked in the driveway and accepted some more packed bags into her car to help him move out. She'd been pretty sure Marty had been living out of the luggage itself the entire time he'd been there, like any day he'd need to be ready to peel back out of the apartment he'd been invited into. 

Maggie had also come to give Rust sincere thanks - for handling Marty for her, for sharing the burden of another man who couldn't figure out what he wanted in life enough to just fucking pick it and stay true to it.

She's always appreciated that, in Rust. He's steady in the way Marty's always thought he was but failed at. 

Rust had just grunted when she'd thanked him. _"Better than letting him waste the kids' education money on a motel."_ Was all he'd said, not looking at Maggie as he dropped a suitcase of Marty's in the trunk of her car. 

Now that she's actually in here, Maggie sees that the picture Marty had painted was pretty accurate. White walls, plain carpet, cardboard packing box instead of a bookcase in the corner by his mattress. 

The girls kick off their shoes in a tiny pile right by Rust's fridge. 

"I can take your jacket, 'less you're cold in here."

"Oh! Thank you." Maggie hands it over and Rust takes it with him, to a coat hanger in the entryway right near stairs that look suspiciously clean, like no one's gone up them since Marty lived there. 

Rust pulls on a flannel from off that hanger too, hanging it loose over his shoulders with all the buttons staying undone. He grabs a second one and walks further into the apartment, drapes it over books sitting on a cardboard box by the window. Maggie sees the girls notice, watches them tilt heads together, no doubt already planning how to see whatever it is this other adult has decided isn't for them either. 

Maggie sets the gift bag on his counter, sensing invitation in the lack of warnings against using his space. 

She takes out something wrapped in green tissue paper, unwraps it herself as as she comes around to the living room. The girls crowd right behind her, curious but only as bold as what they're shown is safe. 

The tree's leaning against the wall, the stump in a Tupperware container half-full with water. Maggie finishes unwrapping what she's brought while Rust shuffles further into his apartment, opens the blinds and lets cold winter sunlight stream in. Rust doesn't say a word as he comes back across the room towards her, just takes the tree in both hands and holds it steady. "I got this, Maggie. You done plenty just bringing that over." 

"Tree stands are a two-person job. I think I can handle my half of the work." Maggie says, already on the floor with the green-painted metal in her hands. Its three legs are all smooth waves, bumped across like a squat pumpkin. 

"...Alright then." Rust finally budges with the tree, branches singing like a rain stick against each other as he lifts it. "Not much really _needs_ to be a two-person job." He says, soft like he doesn't need it to be shared but can't keep the words from coloring his mouth. "If you know the right leverage."

Maggie lets that brew until they've managed the stump from the Tupperware and into the gap between the screws of the tree stand. She twists them, one by one, a triangle to pin the tree in place. "You know, I've had enough shifts in the ER that I couldn't even tell you how many times I've heard that logic. Usually from people with a broken arm or a nail gun stud through their foot."

Rust blinks, still with downcast eyes not looking at her, and scoffs. 

"Where's the outlet on this side of the room? So you can plug the lights in."

"Uh." Says Rust, like the layout of the parts of his home that he doesn't touch are just as foreign to him as to a stranger. Maggie swallows something sharp while she watches him search the wall. "Guess over this way's fine."

It's nearly in front of the wide French doors, coated over with half-drawn blinds that clearly came with the apartment. Maggie hasn't had that style of blind since she was sharing a dorm with three other nursing students. Like everything else she notices about Rust's apartment, it feels empty in a carelessly ascetic way. It makes her think of endless identical rooms, scrubbing out personality in favor of the bare minimum of survival. 

*  
The gift bag also had one other thing in it. Rust opens it up on Maggie's insistence, takes out the box of ornaments and puts them on the countertop. 

"These are awful nice, Maggie. Not sure I'm the best person to give 'em to."

"My mother sends me a new set every Christmas. She's very opinionated about what makes up a good household. Please, take them. Even just as a rental if you don't want to store them here. I'd rather someone got to use them."

"That about right? Doing stuff for other people so at least someone else can have planned-out happiness?"

"Is suffering in silence better for the universe, then?" 

Rust goes quiet, for just long enough that Audrey interrupts. "Mom, are we gonna help put the decorations up? Or is Rust gonna do it himself?"

"Well, we'll have to ask him. He might want to put them up later." For all that she's willing to press this bit of normalcy into Rust's life, Maggie knows better than to share this part - the children - too closely. 

"'Course you can. Unless your mom's got somewhere to be." Rust doesn't look at the girls except for small strips of time, eye contact slow but blinked away the next moment. He's staring at the countertop now, busies himself with opening the plastic box of glass ornaments. Maggie has a brief moment of genuine shock before she smiles through it, normalizes the moment like Rust is, and herds the girls closer to the tree. 

At least Rust's living room has carpeted floor, Maggie comments halfway through decorating the tree. It means any of the ornaments that get dropped might not shatter right away. 

* 

They're leaving less than fifteen minutes later, but Maggie doesn't feel rushed. There were only a dozen ornaments in the box - barely enough for a tree, too much in an apartment that empty. It stands out even in broad daylight, bright colors in a bleached-out room. 

The girls rush to the car with Maggie's keys, let themselves in while the adults talk on the front porch. They're ready to go home, bored quickly with a house that doesn't have too many places for them to break into and explore. 

Maggie places a hand on Rust's chest, not too far in, not over his heart like she would if he were Marty. Right beside his shoulder. Rust stiffens and looks away like a beat dog, like she's threatened him, and Maggie thinks about the sort of men her girls might meet as they grow up. The fear and loneliness that rots some people from the inside. 

The girls aren't watching yet, too busy arguing about who gets the car seat that's been in the sun. "Come over for dinner. The twenty-seventh. That'll be enough time for my parents to have left." 

For a moment, Rust looks like he might say no again, like he might say more than that, like he might say anything to get her hand off of him. Maggie feels senseless shame, useless when it's his burden and not hers, but she takes her hand away. She straightens her jacket and tucks her hands into her pockets. Her girls have the keys, or she'd be fidgeting with them. 

"Alright. If you're sure you wanna have an endless parade of guests right after Christmas." 

She wasn't expecting an actual yes. Her smile is a genuine, wide thing that wrinkles the corners of her eyes. "Alright. Marty and I will see you then." 

Rust just nods. She expects him to disappear into his apartment the moment the need for normalcy has been lifted, but he doesn't budge while she starts the car. Just lights a cigarette as she backs out of the driveway. 

Rust watches them from his porch until the road bends. Maggie feels his eyes on the back of her head for much longer.


End file.
